Before I go running, it’s typically a battle of Good Mallory versus Lazy Mallory. Good Mallory says “Hey! It’s nice out! When it’s nice out sometimes you enjoy the run for almost the first four minutes! Go do it!” Lazy Mallory counters with “But you were kind of sick yesterday! Don’t worry! Keep lying in your bed!” Good Mallory says “You don’t feel sick anymore, do you? Also, what time did you wake up today?” Bad Mallory sheepishly admits “Um, 1 p.m.” Then Good Mallory finishes it up with “EXACTLY. I win, you lazy ass. Go running.”

(It should go without saying that by running I mean jogging slowly for a short amount of time.)

So I turn off my schizo and head out for my run. There’s a nice little wooded path by my house, which is pretty flat and not that long (that’s what she said?). I go running there regularly (read: every other month).

For the first, oh, six minutes, things are going well. Nice temperature, I’m digging my On-The-Go playlist, etc. etc. Then some asshole rock jumps out and trips me, my right foot bends awkwardly under me, and I fall. Hard. My train of thoughts was as follows:

1. Hahahhahahahahahahahahaha.

2. Oh shit. What if this is one of those moments where nothing hurts and then all of a sudden you look and somehow your femur bone is sticking out through your shin?

3. If that were to happen, how would I get back to my apartment?

4. Hey, my knee is bleeding. Bad ass.

5. Did that guy with the dog see me fall?

6. Does this mean I can go home and lie on the couch?

7. Even better, can I call in sick at work for this?

8. I guess this is why uncoordinated people who hate running shouldn’t run.

Before the dude with the dog can get to me, I stand my sorry self back up and start hobbling away. Guy with dog looks at me with pity and is all “Uhhh, you okay?”

In the days since my devastating and life-threatening injury, my ankle has gone from normal looking to softball size to cankle-esque (EW) with a purpleish hue. And I’m rocking an ace bandage. It’s like I’m a real athlete! Also, I got to feel pretty justified doing nothing for the past few days. R.I.C.E., baby:

I understand that this is a crappy, generally useless photo. But hey, camera phones!

Throughout this whole harrowing process I’ve learned one very important lesson: mild injuries are WAY less fun when you don’t get to skip school for them.

That story just gave me wonderful mental images to look at today while I ignore the flight attendants without looking too rude, obviously a worry I regularly have which ultimately leads to my actually paying attention to their less than realistic or thrilling actuation of the plane crash that hardly ever happens, even in South America. Speaking of, Mal, are you coming???? You already have the pedicure for it.